Teleportation Technology
by SolarSolstice
Summary: A short conversation between a Wizard bartender and Muggle patron. Has a few clichés. Set Post-Epilogue. OCs. ONE-SHOT


"Why'd you set up your console in a bloody fireplace?" said a dark-haired patron as a couple came out of the Floo, brushing soot off their robes.

The young bartender looked at the wide-eyed Muggle in disbelief. A few seemed to slip into the Leaky Cauldron every year, but none had witnessed such a blatant display of magic. He had invoked a magic-free policy after one-too-many drunken brawls but kept the Floo connection up. It wouldn't do to lose such traffic; very few came through Muggle London nowadays.

"Console?" he parroted, slipping his wand into his hand under the counter.

"Teleportation consoles. Vann Technologies make 'em, came out a year ago. Bloody expensive to put one in but worth it if you get enough revenue," the man replied, looking up and down the bar contemplatively. "Can't believe this place has enough business to qualify."

"Hmm." The wizard said, still musing on whether to alert the MLEP of the Statute breech. On one hand, the man had seen real magic. On the other hand, there was a Muggle equivalent, so there was little need for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee to step in. He decided to let him continue.

"Most people don't bother with it, too risky, they say. I'm not too thrilled with it either, feel like sicking up coming out." The man took a sip of his brandy. "There aren't many around, fare's a bit too pricey, but I reckon it'll go down once they work out the issues."

The wizard swallowed. Ever since he took over from his mother, Hannah Longbottom fifteen years ago, more and more muggleborn came out of the Alley looking unimpressed. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but while he'd see the purebloods and half-bloods drop by after graduating Hogwarts, muggleborn were almost non-existent. Even the few muggleborn friends he had had rarely stopped by.

The current Muggle world was completely unrecognizable from the one of his youth. Gone were the sleek automobiles, billowing white smoke and fumes. Muggles had discovered how to make them with the sun and eleck-ricity. It was rumoured some could drive themselves. He didn't know nor care how, but he had to admit it was impressive for Muggles. Not that Wizards were slouches by any means—Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes had developed the Portable Floo Bowl. It was a relief for old and young wizards everywhere looking to make a quick call.

Still, the depleting population was cause for concern. The purebloods made up fifteen percent of the population during Hogwarts, but almost eighty after. The Muggleborn rarely stayed a year in the Wizarding World after finishing Hogwarts. There were new standards and laws to discourage Muggleborn emigration, thanks to Hermione Granger-Weasley, but most still left. If the Muggle world was doing as well as this man claimed, the Ministry would have to work harder to convince the Muggleborns to stay.

He was about to ask the man for more information when a sudden high pitched chirp came from the Muggle's pocket. The man gave an apologetic smile before taking out what a few Muggleborn had described as a "mobile".

"Ah, holographic call, do you mind?" he asked as he checked the screen.

The wizard shook his head silently as the muggle pressed a few buttons and the ringing stopped.

He almost gasped when a projection displayed above the device, showing a middle-aged woman with blonde hair, hazel eyes and a frown marring her otherwise pretty face. She looked around the establishment scornfully.

"David, you swore you wouldn't go to that filthy pub after work again!"

"It was only a drink, love, I'll be home soon," replied the man with a roll of his eyes. "I don't know why, but this place has the best alcohol," he said non-too-quietly to the bartender.

"I haven't gone deaf, David! And pick up some milk on the way back, two per cent."

"Alright dear, see you in twenty." The projection shut off and now-named David put the mobile back in his pocket.

"Sorry 'bout that, the missus has been a bit frazzled since our youngest went off to Uni. She's thinking of working in the space colonies. Food production."

_Space colonies?_ The bartender nodded, bemused. "That's...bad?"

"Depends. But the flights off Earth are getting safer by the day, and just last year the missus and I went for a Moon Walk for our 30th."

David finished the last of his drink. "How much?"

"It's on the house. For good company," The wizard said, too lost in thought to consider calculating how much the drink would cost in Galleons.

"Cheers." David smiled before gathering up his things and heading out the door.

Teleportation, which sounded like Apparation, flights off Earth, and now, space colonies? Were the Muggles really doing that well?

Yes, he thought as the door to Muggle London closed, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would definitely have to be informed.

* * *

**Just a short drabble that popped into my head. **


End file.
